Turning Point
by StarlightSorcerer
Summary: An old enemy returns. A good friend departs. A horrible rage festers just below the surface. It will not be long before HE is born. Perhaps we've reached something of a turning point. [A short sequel to Slipping Away Slowly]
1. Part 1

**Part 1**

Elliot sat on the old stone steps outside his school, waiting. A horde of students crowded the stairs, chattering excitedly. All of them were eager to get home. Elliot wished he could share their excitement. Lately home was a worse place than usual. One of the only good things about his house was his dad. But for a little while now he'd been foggy and distant. Sometimes he'd even snap at him. Elliot desperately wanted to know why.

The massive crowd had now thinned significantly. Most of the students had filled the buses, which were now chugging out of the parking lot, leaving an overpowering stench of exhaust in their wake. It was not long after they left that Elliot's dad pulled up to the curb. Elliot made his slow way to him, wondering what sort of mood he'd be in today: depressed or aggravated. Elliot hesitated to look at his dad as he got in the passenger's seat. He waited with bated breath for his father to say something and/or start driving. None of that happened. Elliot turned to him, slowly and cautiously, expecting to find him in a trance, as he had a few too many times recently. He ended up being pleasantly surprised by his expression.

His father was smiling at him. "You ever just wanna run away for a while?" he asked in a comically casual tone.

Elliot squinted in confusion. "What?"

His father shifted the car into drive and pulled away from the curb. "We're gonna go on a little trip," he told him.

Elliot was as shocked as he was excited. "Where are we going?"

"A very special place."

Elliot stared at him, silently pleading for him to go on. He didn't. Elliot was frustrated, but at the same time he enjoyed the excitement of not knowing where exactly they would go.

"So, how was school?" his dad asked cheerfully.

"It sucked," Elliot muttered.

His dad narrowed his eyes at Elliot's reply. "Did one of those boys hit you again?" he demanded.

Elliot couldn't quite look at him. "No. They just called me a retard."

His father clicked his tongue. "Now why do you think they called you that?"

Elliot's face burned. Why would he ask such a question? He'd expected his father to simply say that they were wrong and to forget about it. "I donno," he mumbled. "Pr-probably 'cause I don't talk much and—"

"No, no," his dad cut him off. He shot a few glances at his son, his gaze thoughtful and his mouth a tight line. He gave a decisive nod. "I think they may be projecting."

Elliot chuckled, and so did his dad.

"It's true," his dad went on. "Guess I probably shouldn't say things like that. Oh well." He sighed contently. "Anything _good_ happen today?"

Elliot shook his head.

"Anything _neutral?"_ his dad tried.

"We had a job fair."

"So that's neutral? Sounds interesting."

Elliot shrugged. He didn't want to talk about boring things. Boring things were for school. "Where are we going?" he asked again, only sort of wanting an answer.

His father grinned. "It's a _surprise._ You'll see when we get there."

* * *

Elliot needed to find a way out.

Most days he remained in his room, working on his computer or staring up at the ceiling. Sometimes, to mix things up, he'd take a peek out the window, vaguely curious about what was going on in the outside world. Of course, from that vantage point, The Outside World was reduced to a small stretch of sidewalk and the yard across the street.

Elliot left his room only for the necessities, like going to the bathroom or going downstairs to smuggle food out of the kitchen. Lunch was his favorite meal. For breakfast and dinner, he was forced to be in the same room as his mother. The interactions were mercifully brief, but never brief enough. They hardly spoke a word to each other these days. The silence was most often broken by his mother. She would often order him to go pick up some food from the market. Because he was a lazy nothing who needed something to do and she felt depressed just looking at him. He should at least make himself useful.

Elliot wanted to get out of this house, this _prison,_ and never come back. The two most obvious routes of escape were college or a job. He knew for certain he didn't want to go to college. He was already very skilled with computers; he knew them inside and out. There was nothing these schools could teach him that he didn't already know, or that he could teach himself twice as fast. So the only remaining option was to get a job. But all he had was a high school diploma. That would probably make achieving his goal that much harder.

He was at an impasse.

Elliot pushed himself out of bed with a sigh. The red numbers on his old digital clock blinked four PM. It had been about a week since he'd left the house. Perhaps some fresh air would do him good. Usually all he did was walk around the block a few times, but it was something. He'd done everything he'd wanted to do on his computer, and if he stared at the ceiling any longer his brain would liquefy.

Elliot paused by his nightstand, that familiar orange pill bottle having caught his eye. He grabbed it and hurried to the bathroom. He closed the door behind him and came to stand in front of the toilet, his eyes darting between it and the pills. He'd meant to do this earlier, as per usual. He was upset with himself for forgetting. Elliot popped the cap, poured two pills into his hand, and tossed them into the toilet bowl. He flushed them, and watched with an intense, paranoid stare to ensure that they went down. Then he placed the pill bottle in the cabinet and promptly left.

Elliot edged down the stairs, listening closely for voices or any other sounds. The house was eerily quiet. His sister had left a while ago to visit friends. Perhaps, he hoped, his mother had left as well. Elliot breathed a quiet sigh of relief as he went to the front door.

"Where are you going?"

Elliot tensed. His eyes darted to the living room, where his mother stood. She was very still, her stare blank and her mouth a hard line.

"Just going for a walk," Elliot mumbled, his eyes on the floor.

"Where?"

"Around the block," he replied hurriedly, unable to keep aggravation from seeping into his voice. She picked up on it, of course.

"Don't use that tone," she snapped. She huffed and shifted her feet, the old floorboards under her creaking loudly. "You don't seem any better. Have you taken your pills recently?"

Elliot's heart pounded. "Yeah, this morning," he muttered.

"Don't lie to me. I'm going to count them."

"Go ahead," he encouraged, fighting to keep his tone light. "Bottle's in the cabinet."

The saga of The Pills had begun a few months ago, when his mother had forced him to go to therapy. Elliot didn't know why he'd let her. He was an adult; technically he didn't have to follow her orders. Maybe it was that, as much as he despised the whole concept of therapy, he did want help. He was depressed, and anxious. He was so angry all the time. He was desperate for any sort of relief. But maybe it wasn't that. Maybe he was just doing as his mother said because that was all he knew. He'd been groomed to love and depend on the short leash she'd made for him.

Elliot had a few decent discussions with the psychiatrist. His mother talked to him as well, though Elliot was always hurried out of the room when those discussions happened. He wondered what they talked about. They'd seemed to form a strangely close bond in a hurry. It wasn't long before Elliot was given The Pills. The rather large tan-colored capsules had been given some name he couldn't quite pronounce, and his psychiatrist was bafflingly vague about them. He simply said that the meds would "solve his problems" and "clear his head."

The first time Elliot took those pills, his suspicion was confirmed: this was all just an elaborate way for his mother to punish him, control him. Shortly before his mom had started pestering him about therapy, he'd lost his temper with her. It had happened one night when she'd started hitting him again. She never hurt him too badly, but it was enough to make his near-constant rage really flare up.

Why did he continue to take such abuse? He was bigger than her now. He was not a small, helpless child anymore. That was what ran through his mind while she was hurting him. That was what Angela had said to him not too long ago, with fire in her eyes and ice in her voice.

"Do something about it," she'd said. "Don't just stand there and take it. You don't have to anymore. Just _push her."_

Elliot loved the power in those two simple words. _Push her._ Finally, he snapped, and did just that. He shoved his mother, and she slammed into the kitchen cabinets behind them. Elliot felt the briefest surge of satisfaction before the reality of what he'd just done hit him full force. His mother stared at him, wide-eyed and terrified as she rubbed her bruised shoulder.

Oh, God, what had he been thinking? How completely idiotic. What would she do to punish him? Was she going to beat him more brutally? Would she send him to jail?

No. She was going to give him The Pills.

Those dull, harmless looking capsules ripped apart Elliot's brain in a way he couldn't believe any substance on Earth could. The first day he took them, he didn't leave his bed. He didn't want to. Moreover it just wasn't possible.

The room moved all over the place. Everything looked drippy and not solid at all. He felt some vague anxiety at first, but it was promptly buried under an avalanche of numbness. Though his worries evaporated in a haze of chemicals, he did not feel any sense of peace, as he thought he surely would. He was not depressed either. Or angry. Or happy. He was reduced to a non-human state of no emotions, no thoughts, nothing. He was not quite awake, not quite asleep. Elliot thought that it should be pleasant in some way, to be so numb. But this was beyond numb. In this state he did not exist enough to be numb.

That was his mother's punishment: a chemical lobotomy.

The next day and every day after, he flushed The Pills. And so far he'd gotten away with it.

"Will you go to the store for me?" his mom's voice brought Elliot back to the present.

He took the small list from her. Her question was not a question, but an order. She said nothing more, and Elliot left without a word.

The Walmart was busy this time of day, the frantic after work crowd clogging the aisles. Elliot hated being around this many people. Wherever he went, he was always brushing up against at least three other shoppers, and that put him on edge in a hurry. He retrieved the items on his mother's list as quickly as possible and went to the check-out. He'd considered trying to make eye-contact with the cashier and bag person, but after braving that sea of customers he was far too exhausted for that. He stood in silence as the chipper, middle-aged lady scanned his things.

"Hey, Elliot. What's up?"

Elliot's stomach churned. He knew that voice. Slowly he lifted his head to read the name on his tag, ironically surrounded by smiley faces. Then Elliot reluctantly looked him in the eye. He was older now, but he didn't appear all that different. He was just more worn out than he'd been in his teenage years. He seemed about as thrilled as Elliot was, but he at least tried to force a polite smile. He was working, after all. He had to be kind to the customers.

"Long time no see," Brandon said placidly. "What you been up to? Still stuck in this crap town, huh? I've been trying to find a place near Brent's, ya know, some place more rural. I was thinking maybe I'd help him run one of the camps."

Elliot's eye twitched in aggravation. The last thing he wanted was to hear Brandon talk about camp—no, the last thing he wanted was to be anywhere near Brandon. He shot a quick glance at the cashier. She was moving at a glacial pace, not even halfway through ringing up his food.

Brandon eyed him warily. "You okay, man?" he murmured. "Hey, that was so long ago. I'm not mad anymore. If she likes you better than there's nothing I can do about it." He shrugged. "Anyway, I'm over her."

Elliot clenched his fists, digging his nails deep into his palms. _Don't talk about her._

Brandon lethargically dropped a soup can into one of the plastic bags. "I'm guessing you guys are still together?"

Elliot stayed quiet. Longing rippled through his heart, making him ache.

"I like being single, seriously," Brandon went on, obviously not interested in an answer. "After the whole Angela thing, I've been taking a vacation from dating. If she's taught me anything, it's that women are _crazy."_ He chuckled.

Elliot stared at him, stone-faced and silent.

Brandon's smile faded. "So, uhh, Angela probably told you what happened, right?" He didn't wait for Elliot to reply. He sighed and quickly went on, "It wasn't like that. I-I mean seriously, just—We were flirting, ya know, by the lake, then we go back to my tent, and-and—" Brandon trailed off, then lowered his voice. "I-I mean we were making-out and everything. Then all of a sudden she acts like—like she doesn't wanna do anything." He shook his head in disbelief. "Honestly, Elliot, I'm just trying to warn you, okay? She's weird. She plays all these games, ya know, toys with me, then she acts like _I'm_ the bad guy. She's _messed up._ The more I think about it, I can't even believe tha

 _I really shouldn't let my anger get the best of me._

 _A few weeks after the camping trip Angela told me everything. It was obviously difficult for her. She'd tried to block out most of it to cope. Apparently that asshole had shoved his hands into her clothes, and she'd had to push him three times before he finally got the hint. He's the worst kind of person, the kind of person who thinks he can do whatever he wants to someone. I'm not gonna take it easy on him. He's a rapist._

 _…_ _Where was I? Oh, right: anger. Over the years it had become my blindfold. Right then, it was just like when I pushed my mom: I was outside myself, only vaguely aware of what I was doing. I was not in control. It was something else inside me, pulling the strings when I was too scared to do what I really wanted. That's true rage._

 _He only got one hit in. He figured out pretty quickly that I was stronger than him. I had the same great realization. I'm not surprised he tried to get away. He's a coward._

 _In the middle of it I remembered the soup can he'd bagged. It was big. It could really do some damage. The only reason I didn't use it was that it was too far away at the time. If it was within my reach, I could've used it to cave in his skull. Was that what I wanted? Did I want to hurt him that much? Honestly, I don't know._

 _No one tried to stop me. I can't imagine the cashier liked him. The whole time he was talking she was sighing or shaking her head. She was tired of listening to his bullshit. She was grateful to me for finally shutting him up._

 _A few people watched. Most people tried to avoid me. Everyone who'd been in line behind me went to another register. They were all working class people who had more important things to worry about. The employees just let it happen. This was above their pay grade._

 _Eventually two officers pulled me off him. That was when the blindfold came off._


	2. Part 2

**Part 2**

The special place turned out to be Wildwood. Specifically, the city's long stretch of boardwalk, which was home to many waterparks, shops, restaurants, and rides. Elliot had seen pictures of the place in old newspapers his father had collected over the years. He'd entertained him with stories about the boardwalk, how his parents had taken him there when he was a kid. He'd told Elliot that he'd take him there too one day.

The first thing they did was ride the tramcar. According to Elliot's dad, this was a requirement for all those who came to the boardwalk. The tramcar was a train of sorts, though there were no tracks. Elliot found it enjoyable enough, but his dad had a crazed look on his face the whole ride, grinning widely as they cruised around the boardwalk. He chuckled when some lady came over the intercom, saying in a tinny voice: "watch the tramcar, please!"

Elliot preferred the Ferris wheel, even if it was a bit scary at first. His heart pounded as the passenger car struggled towards the sky, creaking and screeching all the way.

"You're okay," his dad soothed. He sat in the seat across from him, calmly watching as they left the ground far behind.

Elliot took a few deep breaths and kept his eyes on his feet. Someone in a nearby cabin must have brought a radio. He could hear some old DJ introducing the next song.

"You're listening to WCMC AM," the man rasped, "Wildwood's home for all your favorite oldies. Our next song tells a story of those fun little stores that seemed to have, well—" he chuckled "—just about everything! This is Little Chrissy K.'s big hit: Five and Dime!"

Elliot laid his head back with a groan.

His dad laughed at his reaction. "There's no escaping it now!" he teased. He began to quietly sing along. He knew all the words, as his mother used to always play the song on her turntable. Even after all these years, he'd never grown tired of it.

Elliot on the other hand was sick to death of it. However, even if he didn't like the song, he liked that his father liked it. Obviously it reminded him of his childhood and all the great times he'd had with his mom. When that song came on, his smile would grow, and he'd get a bright, faraway look in his eyes. Elliot was almost tricked into feeling that he loved the tune just as much. It was odd. But somehow also wonderful.

Suddenly their car jerked to a stop. In a burst of panic, Elliot gripped the edges of his seat and held on for dear life. Through a haze of fear, he heard his dad say his name. Elliot looked up. His father wasn't looking at him. He smiled, mesmerized by something outside the car.

"Look at that," he breathed.

Elliot figured the "that" must be pretty amazing if it had distracted him from Five and Dime. Elliot followed his dad's gaze. Instantly he relaxed, his death grip on the seat loosening as his anxiety evaporated. They had reached the top of the wheel. The view from there was incredible. The colors of all the rides and attractions were like a rainbow, one that'd grown tired of hanging in the sky and wanted to weave around vacationing families instead. The best part by far was the ocean: the late afternoon sun had sent a shower of sparkles over its surface.

"I know you were freaking out before," his dad said softly, "but it was worth it, right?" He made a small, thoughtful noise. "I guess I should've told you: it gets better the higher up you go."

Elliot agreed wholeheartedly.

* * *

Angela sat at the kitchen table, eating a PB and J and reading the local paper only because there was nothing better to read. She attempted to focus on a human interest story about some local resident's recently deceased twenty-five year-old cat, but her mind was elsewhere. She was thinking of several important e-mails she needed to reply to.

Her dad sighed loudly as he trudged into the kitchen. He was not a morning person. He slumped against the sink, turning the water on full blast and shuffling dishes around. "Talked to Magda earlier," he mumbled.

Angela thought to reply with the standard "that's nice," before realizing that talking to that woman was hardly ever "nice," especially not for him. So instead she just nodded and made a small sound of acknowledgement.

"Apparently Elliot got arrested last night," he yawned.

Angela jerked her head up. _"What?_ What happened?"

Her dad plucked a dish from the sink and scrubbed it with a tattered rag. "He beat up some guy at the Walmart," he said, sounding simultaneously amused and disturbed.

"Is he okay?" Angela asked frantically.

"He's really _not_ okay. He's in the hospital. Your friend really laid into him."

"I meant _Elliot,"_ Angela clarified. "Is _he_ okay?"

Her dad frowned at her. "Oh, _he's_ okay. Just spent the night in a jail cell. Barely a scratch on him. Walmart guy's a wreck, though." He shot Angela a pointed look. "Bruises. Black eyes. _Fractured jaw."_

Angela stared down at the table, her mind reeling. What had happened? She needed to hear the whole story, and not from her dad and certainly not from Elliot's mother. "Is Elliot at home?" she asked, pushing out of her chair. "I need to talk to him."

Her dad let out a small, sad chuckle. "Of course you do," he muttered.

Angela narrowed her eyes at him. "What?"

Her dad cleared his throat. "Nothing. To answer your question, yeah, he's home. Go ahead, go talk to him." He waved dismissively.

"What's your problem?" Angela demanded. She knew she should just let it go and leave, but she was tired of his attitude when it came to her friend.

Her dad went about his business, delicately placing the clean dishes in a stack beside the sink. "I don't have a problem," he replied lightly. "I'm just not sure why you're still talking to me. Go ahead and leave. I can't stop you."

"That's very true," Angela said coolly. "I am an adult, so I don't have to do anything you tell me. I don't even have to live in this house anymore."

Her dad sighed. "Move out then."

"Don't worry. I won't be living here much longer." Angela waited for her father's response. He remained silent, rinsing and scrubbing and stacking plates. He didn't look at her. Angela had had enough of him. She sighed and stormed out.

* * *

Elliot woke with a start to a loud clanging sound. He sat up. A tired police officer stood by the open cell doors.

"Slept like a baby, huh?" he asked in an extremely condescending tone.

The policeman was correct. Elliot had found the bed quite uncomfortable at first, but he'd quickly adapted and gotten the best night's sleep he'd had in a while.

The officer jerked his head to the door. "You're out. Hurry up."

Elliot pushed himself to his feet and followed him through the labyrinth of hallways. The reality didn't hit him last night: not when he'd been handcuffed, and not when he was pushed into the back of a police car, and not when he'd stepped into his jail cell. No, the reality hit him as he was led through the police station, as he looked at all the gruff policemen and bulletin boards and cheesy motivational posters. Elliot wasn't foolish enough to think it all ended with him walking out of this place. Everything was far from over.

Elliot walked out into the station's parking lot, blinking hard as the sun hit him in the face. _She_ was there, her eyes wide with fake worry and her mouth trembling with fake sadness. Fake, fake, fake. Elliot felt nauseous. A part of him longed to return to the jail cell.

"Ms. Alderson," the policeman said.

"Officer," Elliot's mom said. "I'm so sorry about my son. He's very sick. For years, h-he's had these horrible outbursts—"

"Ms. Alderson," the policeman breathed, exasperated, "it really doesn't help him to talk to me. Now, I'll be very blunt with you. What's probably going to happen is—"

Elliot tuned out for the rest of the conversation. Whatever was going to happen to him, he'd find out soon enough. He just didn't feel like hearing it all right then. The policeman talked. His mother listened, doing her best to look distraught. Then the policeman said one final thing, in a gentle voice, and patted her shoulder. As soon as he'd disappeared into the station, Elliot's mother whipped around and marched back to her car. Elliot trailed behind.

"Don't drag your feet," she barked.

Elliot sat in the back seat on the drive home. He wanted to be as far away from her as possible. Minutes later they arrived home. Elliot stood in the foyer, his mind reeling. He wondered what he was going to be charged with. But mostly he wondered what Brandon's family must think of him. His parents didn't know about what had happened on that camping trip. They had no idea who Elliot was, or why he'd done this horrible thing. They must think he was a monster. And maybe they were right. Elliot could practically see Brandon's parents and his kindly big brother standing over his hospital bed, staring at his bruised face in absolute horror. Elliot suddenly felt lightheaded.

It occurred to him that he'd been spacing out in the foyer for far too long, with his mother standing right next to him. He should have gone straight to his room and locked the door.

His mother punched his shoulder with all the force she could muster. Then she hit him again. And again.

"I want you _out of my house,"_ she hissed. Then she stalked off, muttering angrily.

Elliot blinked away tears and went to his room. Feeling the need to let out some anger, he slammed the door behind him as hard as he could. He collapsed onto his bed and tried not to cry and tried not to think of Brandon's family.

 _Do you think I went too far? Not far enough?_

 _I know you've been wondering, so I'll tell you: yes, I did hack him. But that wasn't until years later._

 _Brandon H. Fields. He's very active on social media. He's made his life appear as happy and perfect as possible, all the ugliness and sadness carefully excised. In those ways he's like everybody else._

 _He's the manager of some office supplies place in Staten Island. He's got a wife, Meredith, and a son, Charlie. His Facebook's filled with all the usual things: selfies and pictures of his family, plus a few nature photos. Interests include hiking and camping. Nothing out of the ordinary on his Instagram or Pinterest either. I had to dig a little deeper._

 _Brandon's e-mail is pretty normal. A few exchanges with his wife, a newsletter from National Geographic, work-related messages…_

 _But his address is linked to several porn sites. Nothing illegal but most people would find his tastes disturbing. His preferences are pretty indicative of his feelings towards women._

 _I doubt his wife knows about the porn. I doubt she knows about the camping trip._

 _I wonder how she would feel if she knew her husband had forced himself on someone when he was a teenager._


	3. Part 3

**Part 3**

Angela came to Elliot's house later that morning. She knocked on the door and she waited impatiently for it to open, shifting her feet and sighing. She wanted so desperately to know what had happened last night. Hopefully Elliot would be in the mood to talk. She felt sick. What was going to happen to him? The guy he'd hurt probably wasn't going to let him off easy. Who was this guy anyway? Whoever he was, he had to have started it. Elliot wouldn't do something like this unless he was provoked, Angela was sure of that much at least.

The sound of the door creaking open broke her out of her thoughts. Angela expected to see Elliot or Darlene in the doorway. Instead it was their mother that greeted her.

Angela smiled politely. "Hi, Ms. Alderson," she said.

Magda's smile was small but genuine. "Hello, Angela. What brings you here today?"

Elliot and Darlene's mother seemed to really like Angela, though she could not fathom why, even after all these years. Magda didn't seem to care much for anybody else, not even her own children. Yet she'd taken a liking to Angela in a hurry. Angela was a disaster after her mother passed, and her dad was of no help to her, being trapped in his own haze of grief. But Magda Alderson was there for her on more than one occasion, with a tissue or a hug. Angela once wished she could thank her by returning these affections. But after finding out how Magda treated Elliot and Darlene, she didn't want to.

"I wanted to talk to Elliot," Angela told her.

Magda's smile faded. "He's in his room." She stepped aside and let her in. Then she went to the living room and plopped down on the sofa, her gaze suddenly dull and tired.

"Okay, thank you," Angela murmured as she started up the stairs.

"Angela," Magda called.

She stopped and turned to her. "What is it?"

Magda blinked at her. "You're a good girl," she said in quite an odd tone, sounding as if she was trying to remind her.

Angela nodded in response, then climbed the stairs.

Magda had said that to her quite a few times over the years, usually out of the blue. Angela couldn't figure why she felt the need to say it so much. It was a nice complement at first. But it became a bit odd after a while. And sad, come to think of it. Had she ever told her own children that they were good?

Angela pushed away the depressing thought and knocked on Elliot's door. She knocked as lightly as she could, not wanting to spook him. She didn't know what state he was in after what he'd been through. "Elliot?" she called. "It's Angela. Are you—?" She broke off as the door swung open. Elliot stood there, looking drained and vaguely expectant. She waited for him to greet her but he remained silent. She began, "I just wanted to…" then immediately trailed off. There was a brownish mark on Elliot's temple. "Elliot," she sighed. She reached her hand towards his face.

Elliot tensed and took a step back from her, his gaze dropping to the floor. He felt bad for doing so; Angela was just trying to comfort him. But her touching the wound would only remind him of all the trouble he was in. He hadn't even looked at the bruise on his face, the one left by Brandon. Or the one left by his mother. The bruises on his hands he did his best to ignore. Over the years he'd grown tired of examining his wounds. It was a depressing affair, and a pointless one too. Most of his injuries healed themselves and faded away eventually.

Angela searched his face, gazing at him with a profound sadness. "Are you okay to talk?" she murmured the question.

Elliot nodded and let Angela into his room. She immediately sat down on his bed. Elliot hesitated a moment before sitting beside her. After That Saturday Night, they'd agreed that they wanted things to go back to normal. Elliot knew they were foolish to think it was even possible for things to be "normal" after that. He still felt a bit awkward around her at times. He wondered if she ever felt the same.

Angela took a deep breath. "Okay," she said evenly. "Tell me what happened."

Elliot stared at her and pondered how he should tell her. How would she react when he told her it was Brandon he'd fought? Just hearing his name was going to bring back all that trauma. There was no avoiding that. Should he tell her quickly? Yes, quickly, like ripping off a Band-Aid. That would do. Or would it? This was too much. There was already enough going on in his head. He could feel himself starting to space out.

Elliot was suddenly acutely aware of the way Angela looked at him. He recalled her tone when she'd spoken a few moments ago. She was so mature now. And here he thought she couldn't get any more attractive. A wave of depression washed over him. He was such a child compared to her. When was _he_ going to grow up?

Angela sighed. "You're spacing out again." Elliot stammered, trying to form a coherent response, but she talked over him. "No, no, it's okay," she said gently. "You went through a lot last night. You probably need a rest." She pushed herself off the bed. "I'll just come ba—"

Elliot shot forward and caught her wrist, squeezing it a bit too tightly. "No," he said, finally able to speak. "Stay."

Angela looked at his hand, her brows crumpling together with distress. Now she'd seen the bruises on his knuckles. She nodded and sat down again.

Elliot breathed a sigh of relief. He scolded himself for acting like such a dope. He felt Angela touching his hand, the one that was still gripping her wrist. He let go of her, thinking that her touching him was just a silent plea for him to stop crushing her wrist. But Angela's hand followed his to where he'd placed it on his knee, and she brushed her fingertips over his bruised knuckles.

"Tell me what happened," Angela repeated, her voice soft.

Elliot steeled himself and looked her in the eye. He'd tell her quick. Band-Aid method. "It was Brandon," he told her.

Angela's mouth opened just a little, but she said nothing. She took a long, shuddering breath.

"He was saying…some disgusting shit."

Angela didn't even blink. "About what?"

Elliot hesitated. "Y-you. About you."

"What did he say?" Angela demanded, her expression instantly turning from pained to livid.

Elliot shook his head. He didn't want to tell her. What good would it do her to know? It was bad enough he was back in their lives. Angela needed to forget about him.

 _He's only back because of what you did!_ a voice in the back of his mind screamed. _You can't control yourself! This is all your fault! You're hurting her!_

Elliot chased those thoughts away. "Darlene says I shouldn't feel bad. She says he deserved it."

Angela's gaze was sharp. "Well, she's right," she murmured. "How does your mom feel about all this?"

Elliot sighed. "She's fucking pissed. She said she wants me out of the house."

Angela stared at him, an interesting mix of emotions swirling in her eyes.

Elliot stared back, wishing he was better at reading her. He was surprised when she began caressing his hand again. He hoped his eyes weren't betraying the chaos in his mind. A part of him really wanted her to stop touching him like that. Nothing was going to happen between them, so all this touching was borderline torture. Another part of him desperately wanted her to keep going. He'd take any affectionate touching he could get, especially from her.

"So what are the charges?" Angela asked.

Elliot shrugged. "Don't know yet."

Angela looked away from him. Elliot could tell she was deep in thought. What was she thinking about? He was quite curious. But mostly he felt some mild version of happiness, because she was still touching him.

After some time Angela hopped to her feet. She came to stand in front of Elliot, her hands grasping his shoulders. She was trying to look tough, but worry bled into her eyes. "Whatever happens," she said slowly, "you're going to be fine."

A vague and silly thing to say, especially considering she had no idea if that was the truth. Even so, in that moment, Elliot believed her. He nodded, then attempted to subtlety tilt his head away from her. Angela was awfully close to him. His face burned. He hoped she wouldn't linger there too long.

She let out a quiet sigh. "Elliot…"

He jerked his head up. Angela's eyes were glued to his right shoulder. He followed her gaze and finally saw the massive dark mark peeking out from under the sleeve of his tee.

"Brandon did this," Angela said, and it was almost a question.

Elliot was quiet just a moment too long. He saw the pained look in Angela's eyes. He didn't need to say anything. His silence had answered her almost question; she knew it was his mother that had hurt him.

Elliot was well aware that his mother had a certain fondness for Angela. He remembered how he couldn't stand watching his mother be so kind to her. He remembered the day he'd told his friend what his mother was really like. They hadn't known each other very long at that point. It was a lazy Saturday in late spring, one of the first warm days of the year. He and Darlene and Angela were at a park, if it could even be called that. It was a rather boring rectangle of grass with a few trees dotted around and a patch of unkempt bushes in one corner, surrounded by equally out of control pines.

Darlene was at that age where one was most commonly loud and obnoxious. Elliot and Angela were just a bit older, but well out of their obnoxious phases. Darlene was eternally bored, prone to fits of insanity if something, _anything_ wasn't happening at all times to entertain her. Angela suggested, as she always did when no one else had any ideas, that they play tag. Her eyes were big and bright as she looked at Elliot. He regarded her warily.

In their games of tag, he was always it, and Angela never tagged him properly. Angela's way of "tagging" him was to wrap her arms around him and try to squeeze the life out of him. At the time Elliot had no idea what sickness had taken hold of her. Sometime later he realized it was just a bad case of puppy love.

For that particular game of tag, Darlene wasn't around to rescue him. Usually she'd pry Angela off of him, screaming about how she was being "grrrrrrrrross!" Darlene wasn't a big believer in cooties, but she was convinced that there existed a bug with a massive hook on its behind, which it used to stab into a person's brain and make them its slave. The bug could be easily passed between boys and girls who did "grrrrrrrrross!" things with each other. Elliot knew he should be a responsible big brother and tell her that that wasn't real. But her belief in the bug did save him from being hugged to death, so he stayed quiet…and occasionally outright encouraged her delusion. But that day, Darlene had wandered off in the middle of the game because she'd found something more interesting to do, and so she did not fulfill her duty of saving him from the dreaded hook-butt bug.

Elliot didn't try too hard to get away from Angela. The park was small, and it wasn't worth running out into traffic to escape her. Eventually he got tired and stopped to take a rest. He resigned himself to his fate. Two seconds later Angela had grabbed him.

"I got you!" Angela giggled as she squished him.

"Okay," Elliot mumbled. He didn't mind the hugs too much. They just went on a little too long. And they were a bit rough. He was distracted from Angela's crushing of his insides by his mother, who approached them with a shockingly bright expression. His mother was smiling. _Actually_ smiling. Elliot had the sense that there was a slightly kinder person buried deep inside her, struggling to escape. He had seen her like this a few times before. He knew that that smile was not meant for him. It never had been.

His mother let out a small chuckle as she gazed at Angela. "You like hugging, don't you?"

"I like hugging _Elliot!"_ Angela replied proudly, as though that were some sort of accomplishment.

Elliot's mother beamed. "I just wanted to let you know we'll be leaving soon, all right?"

"Yep!" Angela chirped.

Elliot watched his mom return to a far off bench. She'd not even acknowledged him. He knew all about the special attention she'd been giving his best friend. His chest burned with envy. What about him and his sister? She was never there when he cried himself to sleep. She never even simply asked how he was doing. For the last couple of years, his little sister had been throwing horrible and often frightening tantrums. His mother was nowhere to found during those, unless it was to scream at Darlene for being so loud or something much worse. She never showed them any kindness. Now Angela comes along, and suddenly she is capable of being a good mother? What about him? What about Darlene? _They_ were her kids, not _her._ Elliot hated this. It was horrible. It wasn't fair. _It wasn't fair._

"She hurts us," Elliot blurted.

Angela released him. "What?" she croaked.

Elliot couldn't look at her. It was a strain to admit something so awful. He forced himself to go on. "Sh-she hits me," he said. "And Darlene. And…and she does other stuff…" his voice broke. He worked hard to fight back tears; he wasn't about to cry in public like a baby. What did Angela think about all this? She was strangely quiet. Elliot turned to see that she was gone. He felt a burst of panic before remembering her hiding spot. He ran to it: the small patch of holly bushes in the ring of pine trees. He quickly crawled to its center, branches catching his shirt and poking his face. Elliot found Angela there, sitting with her knees pulled up to her face, crying her eyes out. As unnerved as he was by her loud, suffocating sobs, Elliot sat beside her, tentatively laying a hand on her shoulder. He was no good at comforting people, but at this crucial moment, he had to try. Especially since this was all his fault.

"It's okay," Elliot said, wishing his voice was less small and pathetic. And what a useless thing to say, too. Saying that things were okay did not make them okay. "Umm…m-my dad said it's okay to cry. It does stuff to your brain and makes you feel better."

"I hate her!" Angela cried. "I don't wanna talk to her anymore!"

Elliot felt heavy. "B-but she helps you feel better, right?"

"I don't care." Angela lifted her head and wiped the tears from her bright red eyes and cheeks. "I hate her."

Elliot blinked at her. He glanced at the bench where his mother sat, barely visible from this secret place. "We should go soon," he whispered. He did not want to rush her but as always he was wary of his mother. She'd be furious if she couldn't find them when it came time to leave.

Angela sniffled and wiped her nose with the back of her hand. "Yeah," she mumbled. "Let's just stay a little bit longer, okay?"

"Okay," Elliot agreed immediately, despite his worry. After several quiet moments, Elliot shifted closer to Angela and, gathering some courage, put his arm around her. He'd seen people do this when someone they cared about was sad. Still he fretted. Was this the right thing to do? Would this make her feel even a little bit better? He was surprised when Angela leaned against him. Perhaps he was doing something right after all. The two stayed like this for some time, still and silent. Then Angela wrapped her arms around him. Her hug was far gentler this time. Elliot didn't hesitate to hug her back.

"You're so nice," Angela murmured.

Elliot's guilt weighed on him for a long time after. He shouldn't have told Angela about his mother. She would have found out eventually, but there was the key word: _eventually._ Now that Angela knew the truth, she would avoid his mother at all costs. Because of him, she had no one to comfort her. Her father seemed to be of no help; Elliot often saw him plodding around Angela's house in a trance. Elliot had done something to comfort her today, but surely that had been something of a fluke. He really hoped she wouldn't come to depend on him. What a mistake that would be. Why couldn't he have let Angela be ignorant for just a little while longer, so she could accept his mother's kindness?

"What are you thinking about?" Angela's voice distracted him from his thoughts.

Elliot's face burned. How long had he been spacing out that time? "Nothing," he replied quickly.

Angela sighed in frustration. Elliot couldn't blame her for feeling the way she did. He wished he could just say how he was feeling. Say how sorry he was, confess that he was completely in l…Well, then again, she already knew all that, didn't she? But still, he'd never said any of it.

Elliot watched as, quite abruptly, her gaze softened.

"Listen," Angela said, "I've been meaning to…" she broke off with yet another sigh, though she was frustrated with herself this time.

Elliot slowly reached out to her and held her hand. He knew he shouldn't do things like that, but sometimes he forgot to stop himself.

Angela smiled faintly at the gesture. She shook her head and mumbled, "Never mind."

Elliot wondered what she'd been meaning to do or say. Angela pulled her hand out from under his. She promised him that she'd talk to him later. Then she left.

Elliot was once again left alone to ponder unpleasant matters. He'd brought Brandon back. Many years ago he'd taken a good person from her. Then there was everything he was. All the inadequacies, all the dark parts of him that too easily overrode anything good…

 _Yes, a part of me still wants something to happen between us. I think she feels the same way._

 _But you remember what I told you: she has shitty taste in men. I've known that for a long time._

 _I want her to be better. I want her to be with someone good._

 _That's why another part of me wants her to forget about me._


	4. Part 4

**Part 4**

Sometime after the Brandon incident, Elliot was beginning to feel more at ease. At least until the process server showed up at his door: a stout, bald man with a polite smile and a dull gaze. His blue tie was nice, but his dark suit jacket and white button-down underneath were perhaps two sizes too small.

He introduced himself as Mr. Pilkington. He addressed Elliot as Mr. Alderson, which was odd. Elliot couldn't remember the last time anyone had been so proper with him. Probably no one had ever called him "Mr. Alderson," at least not in such a serious manner. They had a brief meeting in the living room, which concluded with Mr. Pilkington giving Elliot a small stack of papers in a manila folder. Then he departed, but not before tipping an invisible hat to him in an attempt to lighten the mood. Elliot wondered if that ever worked.

He sifted through the documents, trying to ignore his mother's intense stare. While he'd been speaking with Mr. Pilkington, his mother had sat in the kitchen, glaring daggers at both of them. Mr. Pilkington didn't seem to notice her, or if he did, he was understandably far too terrified to acknowledge her.

Elliot stared at his court date, which had been circled in blue ink. He fretted about how he'd get to the courthouse. He couldn't drive, and he doubted his mother would offer to give him a ride.

Then the real worrying began. He'd probably have to see Brandon again. He'd have to face Brandon's family. It was too bad: he rather liked Brent. But Brent surely hated him, now that he knew who he really was.

When it came time for his court appearance, Angela's father was the one to take him where he needed to go. Obviously Angela had pestered him endlessly to do this for her friend, wearing him down until he finally, begrudgingly, agreed.

Donald Moss arrived at Elliot's home in a timely manner. Elliot approached his car, moving at a glacial pace as he tried to decide where he would sit. His first choice was the back seat. There, he would feel less pressured to talk. But Angela's dad would likely find that rude. He already didn't like him. The last thing Elliot wanted was to aggravate him, especially considering the fact that he'd be trapped in a car with him for some time. So Elliot sat in the passenger's seat.

After some polite greetings, the two were silent for the rest of the trip. Elliot stared out the window and wrung his hands. Angela's father disliked him even more now, didn't he? Perhaps if he knew the truth about Brandon, he may actually gain some respect for Elliot. Or maybe he'd feel that Elliot had gone too far. It didn't matter: he wasn't about to tell Angela's dad what had happened; it was not his place to do so.

The drive felt far too long. Elliot let out a sigh of relief when they finally reached the courthouse. Angela's dad parked right by the entrance. He simply said "okay," which Elliot guessed was his way of saying, "get out of the car, please." Elliot got out and trudged into the building. He got momentarily lost before finding the room he was meant to be in. He made an attempt at taking a deep, calming breath before opening the door.

The room was as dull as the rest of the building. Some hushed conversations went on between the few people who had shown up. Elliot edged away from the door, eyes darting around as he searched the room for familiar faces. No sign of Brandon.

Then he saw them. There was a distraught red-headed woman with her hair pulled back tight, and standing next to her, an equally distressed man with short, dark hair. Brent had his mother's eyes and her fiery hair. Brandon was the spitting image of his father. Their wary gazes were fixed on him. Elliot could see that they were trying to figure him out. He wondered what Brandon had told them. Certainly not the truth.

Brent stood beside them, his eyes on the floor. The whole time Elliot was in that courtroom, Brent never did look at him. He didn't speak a word to him.

This would be the last time Elliot ever saw him.

Elliot sat for maybe a minute or two before some important-looking older man in a suit came by and told him to sit somewhere else. Somewhere else turned out to be a spot closer to the Fields family.

The procedure was more boring than anything Elliot had had to endure at this point in his life. Luckily his raging anxiety kept his focus sharp. When it was over, he left just as silently as he'd arrived.

Angela's dad waited for him in the parking lot. Elliot got in the car, slamming the door a bit too hard.

"Elliot," Angela's dad started.

Elliot jerked his head around, shocked that he was speaking to him. Perhaps he was going to ask what had happened in the courtroom.

"We're going to my house first," Angela's dad explained slowly.

Elliot hated that tone. Angela's father sometimes spoke to him as though he believed Elliot had difficulty understanding him. Elliot's jaw tightened. He was mentally ill, but he wasn't retarded.

"Angela wants to talk to you," Angela's dad said as he pulled out of the parking lot.

Elliot blinked curiously. "About what?"

Angela's dad snorted. "I don't know," he muttered, like Elliot had just asked the most annoying, ridiculous question of all time.

Elliot had the strong desire to hit something. He was greatly relieved when they arrived at Angela's house, and even more relieved when he found his best friend waiting for him in the foyer.

Angela smiled warmly. "Hi, Elliot."

Elliot smiled back.

"He doesn't have much to say, as usual," Angela's dad remarked.

Elliot despised comments like that. He knew he was being overly sensitive, but he couldn't help it.

Angela kept on smiling, adept at ignoring her father. "Let's go to my room," she said, grabbing Elliot's hand and dragging him up the stairs.

Elliot shot one last glance at her dad. He caught a glint of annoyance as well as vague disgust in his eyes. Then he appeared resigned as he left the foyer. Elliot guessed that Angela's dad did not buy that he and his daughter were just meeting up to talk. He thought something else was afoot. If only.

Elliot tried not to think about that as Angela led him into her room. He'd always loved her bedroom. It was so much more warm and cozy than his own.

Angela's smile was gone now. "What happened?" she demanded. "What did they decide?"

Elliot half-smiled. "Restraining order," he replied. He wasn't overly thrilled with the outcome, but it was better than jail time.

Angela let out a breath, also relieved to know that he would not be incarcerated. Still she appeared distressed.

Elliot searched her face. "That all you wanted to talk about?" he asked, though he already knew the answer.

Angela shook her head. She sat down heavily on her bed and patted the spot next to her.

Elliot sat there. "What's wrong?" he asked gently, eyeing her worriedly as she wrung her hands.

"It's-it's just—" Angela broke off with a sigh. She was unable to look at him. "I should've told you this a while ago."

"What is it?"

Finally Angela looked him in the eye. "I'm gonna be leaving in a few weeks," she murmured. "I'm going to college."

Elliot stared at her, stunned into silence. He hadn't even known she had been looking at colleges.

"I'm sorry," Angela said. "I should've told you sooner."

"Is it far?" Elliot asked, but once again, he already knew the answer.

"Far enough," Angela replied miserably.

Elliot shook his head. She shouldn't be feeling this way. And he shouldn't be so selfish. He needed to wipe that ridiculous, depressed look from his face, and fast. "It's a good thing," he reminded her.

Angela cracked a small smile. "Yeah, I know. And I-I am happy. But…" She looked him up and down, her eyes glistening.

Her forlorn look made Elliot ache.

Angela raised her eyebrows. "Listen, I know this might be a lot, but…why don't you just come with me?"

As much as Elliot wanted to, he knew that was out of the question. She was the one going to college, not him. What would he do while she was busy with her important work? More importantly, this was her life. Angela needed to find her own way, and worry about herself, and not have to deal with him and his problems anymore. If he came with her, he knew she'd come to resent him. He'd be a burden. Dead weight. Elliot knew that she knew what a ridiculous idea this was.

"No," Elliot said simply.

Angela made a small, pathetic sound of defeat and dropped her gaze. "I don't wanna just leave you here," she croaked.

"I'll be okay," Elliot assured her. "I've got Darlene." He decided not to mention that they hardly hung out anymore; she was more interested in being with her friends these days. Still, he would be all right. Sure he hated his mom, but he could handle her. Or try to, at least.

Angela threw her arms around him. "I'll miss you," she mumbled into his shoulder.

Elliot hugged her back as tight as he could, a storm of feelings raging inside him. He felt comforted by her closeness. But that closeness only reminded him of how far away she'd soon be. He felt empty. Angela let go of him after many long, lovely moments. She shifted away from him, looking pained. Elliot suppressed a sigh and slowly got to his feet.

"How bad is it gonna be?" Angela asked urgently.

Elliot knew she was talking about his mother. "I'll be okay," he repeated, though he knew she wouldn't believe him. It wasn't a complete lie. He would be okay, just not for a little while yet.

Angela gave his hand a quick squeeze as he passed. "Bye," she mumbled.

"Bye," Elliot said. Then he left her room and trudged down the stairs. Angela's dad was pacing around the foyer, waiting for him. He shot him an inquisitive look.

"Ready to go?" he asked.

Elliot gave a nod, and the two headed back to the car. This trip was just as quiet as the others, but it felt quicker. Before Elliot knew it Angela's dad had parked in front of his house. Elliot leaned his head against the window and stared at his home. This was not where he wanted to be at this point in his life. What did the future hold for him now? Angela was leaving. Her life no longer had him in it. Probably she'd live happily in her college town or wherever and get a job in Boston or New York or some other great city. She'd have a circle of good friends. Probably she would tell stories about him and Darlene. They were good people, she would say, even though they were damaged and reminded her that she was damaged too. Angela would consider getting in contact with them again. But she never would. They'd drift apart, just as she had predicted years ago. She'd still love them, but she'd come to realize that she was better off without them. In the end they were three people with a tragedy in common, all feeding off the same poison.

Darlene would eventually leave too. She'd have a job and her own circle of friends. She would leave Elliot behind too.

And he would still be in his mother's house, completely alone.

So that was what waited for him, down the road.

Resigned, Elliot sighed and threw open the car door.

"Guess I won't see you around anymore," Donald Moss said. "I mean, with Angela going to college and all. No other reason for you to come by the house." He chuckled lightly.

Elliot was once again shocked to hear Angela's dad talking to him. He turned to him. Angela's dad gave a small smile. "I'm gonna miss her," Elliot said.

Angela's father nodded. "I know." He sighed thoughtfully. "It's for the best though, you know? I mean…it'll be good for her to be in a new place, with new people."

Elliot nodded in agreement. It was as though he'd read his mind. Maybe he and Angela's father were a bit more alike than he knew. But Elliot wasn't too interested in finding out for sure. They'd never gotten along, and things between them were unlikely to change.

Elliot smiled politely. "Bye, Mr. Moss."

"See ya, Elliot," he said.

Elliot got out of the car and went into his house. He was happy to find the place so quiet. His mother was nowhere to be found, which was always a good thing. He found Darlene relaxing on the couch. The TV was on, but she paid it no attention. She worked away on her laptop, muffled rock music pouring from her headphones. She didn't notice him standing there. Elliot slunk up the stairs, grateful for her distracted state. He was far too exhausted to talk. He'd tell her about the courtroom drama and Angela's imminent departure later.

Elliot locked his bedroom door and crawled into bed. He was drained.

He just needed to forget about everything for a while.

 _Back then I used to wonder how things would be different if he was still around._

 _He told me he would help me. Maybe he would have had the answers I needed. Or at least he could've helped me find them._

 _I knew I shouldn't think like that. It was pointless. But I couldn't help it._

 _I don't have these thoughts anymore. Not often anyway._

 _At some point I finally let go. As much as I could, at least. Even then I knew I needed to move on._

 _I_ _ **needed**_ _to_ _ **find**_ _the_ _ **answers**_ _on_ _ **my**_ _own_ _ **.**_

* * *

It was sunset. The sky had gone from blue to orange, the white puffy clouds now painted a bright pink. The lights of the various games and attractions illuminated the boardwalk. The brightest of them all was the Ferris wheel: a circle of red and orange lights flashed and chased each other round and round. It didn't even occur to Elliot that it was getting late, and that they should be heading home soon. While admiring the boardwalk with his father, he'd lost all concept of time. Elliot was drawn to the shadowy edge of the boardwalk. It was quieter there. The large crowd and all the activity had begun to wear Elliot out. He needed a bit of peace and quiet.

Elliot's father, eternally perceptive of his son's feelings, turned towards the boardwalk's edge before he did. Elliot charged ahead and climbed up onto the railing.

"Woah, hey, don't do that," his dad warned.

Elliot twisted around to look at him as he jogged over, his eyes big with worry. "Why?" he muttered.

"You—you might fall," his dad panted, bracing himself on the railing. "You don't want to go for a swim, do you?" He chuckled weakly.

Elliot looked at the dark ocean, its sinister waves lapping at the boardwalk's supports. He carefully climbed down. He leaned on the railing like his dad, and together they watched the sunset. Elliot was fairly sure that he'd never watched the sunset before. He found he liked it quite a bit.

His dad sighed thoughtfully. "So," he said, "tell me more about that job fair."

Elliot slumped his shoulders.

"What? What's the problem?" his dad chuckled.

"It was just boring, that's all," Elliot replied.

"There had to be at least one thing that wasn't boring."

Elliot knew he wasn't going to get him to drop it. He took a moment to think about everything he'd seen in his school's gym earlier that day. Not much had really stood out to him. He shrugged. "There were some cops walking around," he recalled.

His dad raised his eyebrows. "Ahh! So the police had a booth set up?"

"I donno. They were just walking around. They were cool."

Elliot's dad brightened. "Are you telling me you wanna be a cop?" He elbowed him playfully. "Should I call you Officer Alderson from now on? Officer Alderson of the NJPD!"

Elliot chuckled. "No way! They were cool, though."

"Why were they so cool?"

"They had guns."

His dad raised a curious eyebrow. "And that's cool because…?"

Elliot had a feeling he'd unnerved him with that comment. "B-because I never see anyone with a gun," he explained hurriedly. "And…they're…kinda cool. I guess. I donno." He nervously picked at a flake of paint on the rusty railing.

His dad relaxed a little. "Okay," he said. "Did you see anything else cool?"

Elliot shrugged.

His dad huffed. "Geez. It's like pulling teeth." Then his eyes lit up and he snapped his fingers. "Dentists. Oral surgeons. Bet you anything they were at the fair. That's a crazy job, huh? Cleaning people's teeth and stuff?"

Elliot scowled. The idea of poking around in strangers' mouths day in and day out was thoroughly horrifying. And if one had the job of wrenching a patient's tooth out, there would be blood as well as saliva gushing out of their jaws.

Elliot's dad nodded. "Yeah, it is kinda gross," he agreed. He scratched at the back of his head. "So, uhh, anything else?" He frowned doubtfully. He already knew what the answer would be.

"No," Elliot replied. "It was mostly boring."

Elliot's father looked out at the ocean again, clicking his tongue thoughtfully. "Well, let's see, based on what you've told me…I'd say you're looking for a career as a bored gunman who hates dentistry."

Elliot chuckled.

His dad put his hands up. "Hey, if that's what you wanna do, I won't judge."

Elliot's smile faded. He picked at another paint flake on the decrepit railing until it snapped off and tumbled into the water below. "I don't know what I wanna do," he told his dad.

"Don't worry," he replied gently. "You got lots of…" he trailed off. After a moment, he cleared his throat and went on, "You got lots of time to figure it out."

Elliot wished he knew what he wanted to do, so he could tell his dad right there and then. He seemed distressed for whatever reason. Maybe that was the thing that would make him feel better. Elliot felt his dad squeeze his shoulder. He looked up at him, once again worried what he'd see written on his dad's face. But, once again, he found his dad smiling. No longer was there even a hint of worry in his eyes.

"Whatever you wanna do," his father said, "you have my support." He raised an eyebrow. "Unless you actually _do_ wanna be a bored gunman who—"

"No, I don't," Elliot chuckled.

His dad grinned. "That's good to hear." Then something in his face changed as he fixed his intense gaze on his son.

Elliot shifted uneasily as his dad searched his face. He wondered what he was looking for.

"You'll do fine," Elliot's dad said. "You're a smart kid."

Elliot's face burned. "I guess," he mumbled.

"You are," his dad insisted, his smile growing. "Don't be so modest."

Elliot looked at the ocean again. He couldn't stop smiling. He really didn't think he was all that smart, but he loved that his dad believed otherwise.

The sun had dipped below the horizon, taking the sky's bright orange and bursts of pink with it. The ocean and the moonless sky bled into each other, black into black. It was nearly impossible to see where one ended and the other began.

Elliot admired the view as his dad patted his shoulder.

"Whatever you do, you're gonna be great at it," he said.

Elliot was warmed by his father's words. There was one last thing his dad said that night, before they left the boardwalk, before they drove home. After he'd said it, Elliot would feel happier than he had in a long time. But he'd been staring out at the ocean. He didn't look at his father's face. He didn't see the way his father's smile faltered when he said it.

"I can't wait to see what you do."


End file.
